


Light a Flamethrower

by Aenaria



Series: Interesting Times [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 'The Incredibles' homage, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Kidfic, Sequel, it's definitely more humorous than my usual fare, may you live in interesting times, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Anything else important I need to know?”  Realistically, Bucky knows that Sophie wouldn’t know everything, but sometimes the kids spot things that not even their well meaning parents do.</p>
<p>In which Bucky Barnes discovers just what special talents his niece and nephews have, and discussions are had about where these abilities came from.  A direct follow up to ‘Interesting Times’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Come on, you knew I wasn't going to leave this series alone. ;-) Uncle Bucky's now on the scene! 
> 
> Thanks to all of the people who read through the earlier versions of this story and dealt with me bombarding them with possible ideas and lots of crying on shoulders as I tried to polish this up for posting, especially Merideath and Mcgregorswench. *mwah*

**Sometimes it's better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness. - Terry Pratchett**

 

Just outside Gilead, Maine

 

Bucky Barnes is perfectly content with his life, thank you very much.  Is it the life he’d envisioned back in his youth, in the time before the war?  Hell, no.  But it is a quiet life, and a good one, which is more than he could have hoped or dreamed for back during those long years as the Winter Soldier.  

 

This cabin in the woods of his, situated on the Maine/New Hampshire border, is the definition of quiet, especially in the late, late fall when the sun sets far too early and the air is almost unforgivably chilly.  It’s not the only place Bucky’s got a claim to (both he and Steve have their names on the deed for an apartment somewhere near Coney Island, just in case the desire to return home gets to be too much for either of them), but it’s probably his second favorite place in the world to be.  His first favorite, however…

 

Well, if he starts driving before the day gets too late he’ll be at the old house in Massachusetts by the time his niece and nephew get out of school.  And his presence has been all but demanded there for the upcoming Christmas holiday, which gives him the perfect opportunity to spoil the crap out of them.

 

Not like much arm twisting is required to get him there.  It’s safe to say that Bucky adores those kids, another bright spot in this shiny new future of theirs.  

 

Bucky pulls a thick sweater over his head and cradles a cup of coffee in his hands as he steps out onto the porch, the mug warming metal and flesh quite nicely.  He whistles once he’s out there, loud and long and sharp, and then waits, sipping at the coffee sending up tendrils of steam into the cold air.  It only takes half a minute for the giant grey and white dog to come thundering out of the woods surrounding the cabin, clamoring up the porch stairs and skidding to a stop at Bucky’s feet.  “Hey, girl,” he says, burying a hand in the dog’s thick scruff and giving her a scratch that sets her panting.  “You ready for an adventure?”

 

**********

 

It’s well past 3 pm by the time Bucky arrives at the Massachusetts house, and at this time of year that’s almost evening.  Frankie the dog wiggles about in the back seat of the ancient Jeep, more than eager to stretch her legs out for a run.  And also possibly for cuddles (Bucky knows where his dog’s heart really is, and that’s halfway between belly rubs and stolen bacon).  While there’s no picket fence around the house off of that wooded road where Steve and Darcy live, rock walls are far more common in this area, Bucky’s convinced that the house could have come straight out of one of their old fantasies about what they were going to do after the war.  Put some of that hazard pay towards homes in the suburbs, and settle down quietly.

 

It may have taken them longer than they’d envisioned it, and the road far, far bumpier than predicted (and ain’t that an understatement, he thinks) but surprisingly they both made it.

 

Bucky pulls up to the garage and kills the engine.  Frankie whines and scratches the door, making Bucky shake his head with a wry grin.  Before he even takes his seat belt off he opens the driver’s side door, and watches as Frankie all but sails over him and takes off across the front lawn, tearing up grass as she charges towards the porch.  Barely seconds after that Bucky hears the front door slam, and a child’s voice shouting out, “Frankie!  Uncle Jimmy!”  

 

Well, who is he to deny such an insistent call?

 

He slips out of the Jeep and hauls his duffel bag over his shoulder.  As he crosses the lawn Sophie’s running hell-bent towards him, dark brown hair flying behind her with Frankie running right afterwards.  “Hey, Princess!” Bucky calls out, opening his arms so Sophie can jump into them.  “How’s my favorite niece?”

 

“I’m your only niece,” Sophie says, with an eye-roll that’s incredibly like her mother’s, Bucky notes.  “But we’ve got all the lights up, and you missed the first night of Hanukkah, but you’ll be here for Christmas, right?  Oh, and I’m singing in the holiday concert for school!  You’re gonna come to that too, right?”  

 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Bucky says, grinning down at her wide blue eyes.  He hoists her up a little bit higher and heads towards the house.  “Anything else important I need to know?”  Realistically, he knows that Sophie wouldn’t know everything, but sometimes the kids spot things that not even their well meaning parents do.

 

“Joey accidentally set the stove on fire,” Sophie says.

 

Bucky grimaces, and pushes the front door open.  Frankie pushes in past them, heading straight for the living room and yipping excitedly as she spots Joey, sitting on the floor and jabbing a pencil repeatedly at a notebook in front of him.  Bucky takes in the intent frown on Joey’s face and the books and papers spread on the coffee table, and gets the feeling that all the kids desperately need the holiday break coming up.  “What’s up, Joey?” he calls out in greeting.

 

Joey looks up at the sound of his voice, and smiles, though there’s a bit of a sigh in it.  “You want to do my math homework for me?”

 

“Not if you paid me.”

 

The decor of the living room - warm and welcoming with more than a few quirky decorations that play off of the beamed ceiling and the large stone fireplace - is all Darcy, Bucky knows.  Steve, for all his artistic tendencies, has the deplorable tendency towards plaid upholstery.  The dark, squashy couches that looked like you could sink into them (and fall asleep on them all too easily, as they all know from first hand experience), were definitely Darcy’s choice, and everyone was grateful for it.  “So what’s this about you setting the stove on fire?” Bucky asks, hoisting Sophie up a little higher on his hip.  “I’m presuming it was a little bit bigger than just a burner if it’s making you blush like that.”

 

Joey frowns hard, scrubbing at his cheeks as if the movement will get rid of the sudden stain there.  “You had to mention that, Soph?”

 

“It was kinda funny,” Sophie says, shrugging idly.

 

“It was an accident,” Joey fires back, straightening up from his slouch against the couch.  “I can explain, I swear.”  Then he arches an eyebrow, looking incredibly like his father, Bucky thinks.  “And besides, I wasn’t the one who broke Mom’s - “

 

“HEY!” Sophie yells, close enough to Bucky’s ear to make him wince.  “You promised you wouldn’t say - “

 

“All right,” Bucky breaks in, attempting to cut whatever argument is brewing off at the knees.  Once upon a time he had a little sister himself, and he can tell that this argument isn’t even a remotely serious one, just one of those little spats that siblings always get into.  But it’s still better to quiet them down before things get out of hand.  “I don’t need to know any more.”

 

Sophie sticks her tongue out at Joey, who just rolls his eyes again.

 

That’s when the menorah in the front window, made of sturdy old bronze colored metal that’s been handed down through generations of Darcy’s family and adorned with simple white wax candles, bursts into flames that reach nearly a foot high.  Bucky takes a big step back, ready to run out of the house with Sophie if the fire goes out of control.  Frankie whines and weaves around his legs, the sudden appearance of the fire rattling her too.  

 

Joey scrambles to his feet.  “Aw, crap.”  He scoops up his water bottle and twists the cap off, falling to the floor with a clatter of plastic on wood.  With a few long strides, moving faster than Bucky has ever seen him move (and he’s seen the kid almost fly on ice skates), he reaches the menorah and dumps the water bottle over it.  There’s enough water there to extinguish all of the flames, and smokes rises up towards the gauzy curtains with a sibilant hiss.

 

“What the hell?” Bucky mutters, looking between the damp, slightly blackened menorah and Joey.  Joey looks more uncomfortable than anything else, and he holds his hands up in supplication.

 

“I can explain!” he blurts out, the blush stealing over his cheeks again.

 

At that moment Steve comes skidding around the corner right into the living room, fire extinguisher in hand, and the baby strapped in a carrier on his chest.  It takes him a second to come to a stop, stocking feet sliding along the hardwood floor as his hand grips onto the wall, and his eyes fly around the room.  “You got the fire out?”

 

Joey nods, holding up the water bottle and giving it a shake.

 

Steve nods back, the arm holding the fire extinguisher falling limp to his side.  He looks over at Bucky and grimaces at the sight of Bucky’s face (which is somewhere between dumbfounded and incredulous, Bucky suspects).  “Merry Christmas?” he says with a shrug.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky responds, deadpan.  He looks down at Ben, comfy cozy in his carrier and looking absolutely unperturbed by everything, eyes half shut and lazily sucking on some of his fingers.  

 

“Oh, yeah, Ben keeps trying to fly too, s’why Dad has to carry him around everywhere now.”

 

Bucky just blinks at that.  “What?”


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which conversations about special abilities are had all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two, as promised. This part’s much lighter on the kids, but heavier on the Darcy x Steve, which I think isn’t too bad a trade-off. This is also where the backstory goes slightly AU, but as it’s an idea I just can’t shake (and haven’t been able to shake it for pretty much years now), I’m taking and running with it.
> 
> Glynnisi, thank you so much for your eyes and your time to help polish this up. :) All right, on with the show.
> 
> Update: edited to remove the beta comments - which proves I should not post when half asleep! Thanks to everyone who pointed them out. I'm gonna go slink off into a corner now and lick my wounds... ;)

Bucky doesn’t get the chance to ask any more follow up questions right then, not when the usual chaos of the household descends.  Who’s coming home from work, who’s being hustled off to hockey practice or karate, who’s got to prepare dinner, and so on.  It’s almost hysterically domestic, Bucky thinks as he’s assigned the duty of taking care of Ben’s diaper, and he’s glad he’s a part of it.

 

But after the practices are done, after dinner’s been dished up, the menorah candles lit for that night and the small gifts of chocolate coins have been distributed, after the kids are washed up and sent to bed (hopefully.  Frankie followed Joey up to bed and chances are good that there’s plenty of snuggle time happening before any sleep does), the adults can finally relax.  Bucky slouches back into that squashy, oversized couch, glass of wine in hand and eyes trained on the fire crackling away in the fireplace. The fire casts oddly shaped lights and shadows over the room, making it feel suffused with warmth as it reflects off of the tree branches outside the window.

 

Steve sits down next to him, quickly followed by Darcy who eschews any delicate sensibilities and flops over, her head cradled in Steve’s lap.  “You wanna go to work for me tomorrow?” she says, in a tone that’s awfully close to a whine for someone who’s supposed to be an adult.

 

“Nope.”

 

“No way in hell.”

 

“Grumpy old buzzkills,” Darcy mutters.

 

They’re quiet for a few minutes, sipping at wine and watching the fire in amiable silence.  But it’s not long before Bucky opens his mouth again.  “So, I’ve gotta ask - “

 

Before he can say anything else he’s cut off by twin groans from Steve and Darcy.  When he looks over he can see that Steve’s eyes are squeezed shut, that little wrinkle between his eyebrows standing out against his skin.  “It’s been a very long couple of weeks,” Steve says, sighing.

 

“Is that how long they’ve been able to do...whatever they do?” 

 

Darcy shakes her head, her dark hair splayed out over Steve’s lap.  “Longer than that.  Not sure how long, the stubborn little punks aren’t fessing up all that much.”

 

“Wow, tell me how you really feel.”  

 

Darcy snorts.  “I adore my children, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re half me and half Steve.  Genetics is working in their favor when it comes to being stubborn.”  She goes silent then, tapping her fingers over her pursed lips. 

 

Bucky rolls his head towards Steve, allowing an almost evil smirk to cross his face.  “You do realize that somewhere out there, your Ma is laughing her head off at you right now, saying that it serves you right.”

 

“Yeah, she would,” Steve grins back.

 

“Do you think it’s related to the serum?” Bucky asks.  Not that he’s planning on having any kids of his own, but he’d like to know if there’s anything in his bloodstream that he needs to be concerned about.

 

The question is enough to wipe the grin off Steve’s face, and he takes another quick sip of his drink.  “I don’t know.  It could be, but then neither of us could do anything _ that _ weird.  So it could not be also.  I’m not sure.”

 

“Any…”  Bucky pauses, searching for the right word to accurately encapsulate everything, “...gifted people in your family?”

 

Steve shakes his head, then looks down at Darcy, using his free hand to push a few tendrils of hair behind her ear.  Darcy frowns briefly, more of a wrinkling of her forehead than anything else, and glances upward.  “On my mom’s side, not that I’ve ever heard of.  Couldn’t tell you about my father.  He ditched mom and me when I was a kid, and I don’t really have any sort of a relationship with him now.  Or ever.  Wouldn’t hold my breath on him having a sudden change of heart.”  She twists slightly on the couch, rolling to her side so she can stare out the window, legs curled up below her.  

 

Steve’s hand weaves through her hair again, fingertips running along the back of her neck.  It’s an oddly comforting move, Bucky notes, just as Darcy’s eyes fall shut briefly.  “I did get hit by...some weird Asgardian shit once though,” she continues, leaning back into Steve’s touch.  “A spell, or something.  I don’t know.  You’ve met Thor, you know there’s a fine line there between magic and science that gets really blurry.”

 

Bucky frowns, glancing over at Steve.  Steve’s not surprised though, face relaxed and warm in the firelight.  So obviously Bucky’s the only one hearing this story for the first time.  “But you’re okay, right?” he asks, turning his gaze to the back of Darcy’s head.  “No lasting damage?”

 

“Not that I know of,” Darcy says softly.  “Sometimes my...energy, for lack of a better word, gets a bit out of whack.  But it’s not a harmful thing.  Just gotta channel it out.”  She inhales roughly through her nose, then sits upright, knocking back the rest of her glass.  “I’ve been dealing with this since before I knew the two of you, so it’s pretty much a non-issue.”  Darcy shakes her head.  “But enough about that.  I’m going to get some more wine, and you two decide on something to watch.”  She all but rolls off of the couch then, and strolls back towards the kitchen.

 

The silence is fairly oppressive in the room until Bucky turns his glare back to Steve.  “A non-issue?” he says, incredulously.

 

Steve shakes his head.  “I’ve never heard her talk about her thing like that before.  Darcy doesn’t talk about it often, but she’s never sounded like she’s been bothered by it.  Not until a couple of weeks ago when we learned the kids could do...what they do.”  He sighs, and scrubs a rough hand over his beard.  “I’ll ask her about it later, but I don’t know if she’ll actually want to talk about things.”

 

When Darcy comes back into the room, bottle of wine in one hand, a big bowl of popcorn in the other, and a sunny smile across her face, it’s like the conversation of a few minutes before never happened.  She drops the popcorn onto Bucky’s lap, puts the bottle of wine on the table, and curls up on the couch, burrowing into Steve’s side.  “Let’s find something fun to watch,” she says as she digs the remote out from between the cushions and turns the television on.

 

“It can’t hurt to try at least,” Bucky mutters, low enough that only Steve can hear him over the noise of the television.  But he also knows just how stubborn the two of them are, and as much as Steve could encourage her to talk, if Darcy doesn’t want to share, then she’ll stay silent on the matter for as long as it takes.

 

**********

 

Nighttime is probably the one quiet time in the house, even when it’s filled up with six humans and one dog.  Darcy knows this, and uses that peace and quiet to indulge in a little bit of pampering before she goes to sleep.  To carefully scrub off the makeup and grime of the day, then follow up with an exfoliator and the various serums and creams to keep her skin soft and supple (she knows she looks damn good for someone staring forty right in the face, but it never hurts to give that a little extra help...even though there’s the strong suspicion that her extra little energy is doing more good things for her body and its aging than she wants to admit).  Smooth the lotion over the limbs, rubbing it into the rough spots around ankles and elbows.  Then, to slip into the comfiest pajamas she has, an old henley of Steve’s and a pair of leggings.

 

By the time she’s done with all of this, it’s close to eleven and her brain’s finally stopped spinning enough for her to maybe get some sleep without tossing and turning all night long.  School starts early in the morning and if she doesn’t get some sleep, she won’t be worth shit.  And even the most unobservant of middle school students in an 8 a.m. history course will notice that she’s halfway to becoming a zombie without it.

 

Sleep seems just out of reach, however, leading Darcy to angrily thump at her pillow as she twists onto her other side.  There’s a large part of her that envies the baby, swaddled and sleeping soundly in his crib without a care in the world.  At least until it’s time for his diaper to be changed.

 

Darcy’s still awake when Steve comes in, watches through slit eyes as he strips out of his shirt and tosses it in the hamper.  The jeans follow right after, and he pulls on a pair of plaid pajama pants that have practically worn through the knees at this point.  He disappears into the bathroom for a brief moment, but by the time Darcy’s eyes open again he’s back in the bedroom, leaning over Ben’s crib and reaching down to carefully stroke some hair out of the baby’s face.  Then he sighs and moves over to the bed, peeling back the covers Darcy’s burrowed under and sliding in next to her.

 

“I’m pretty sure I can hear the wheels in your head spinning from here,” Steve whispers, rolling his head on the pillow to look at her.

 

Darcy groans lowly and squeezes her eyes shut, resisting the urge to toss the blankets over her head.  She’s a mature adult (supposedly), she’s not supposed to hide like one of her kids.

 

“Come on, talk to me,” he murmurs, quiet enough to not wake the baby (three kids in, they’ve become damn good at having conversations in whispers and quiet tones to make sure that the sleeping baby in the room with them stays asleep).  Darcy sighs heavily and twists until she’s got her head pillowed on his shoulder.  His fingers tangle in her hair, and she allows her eyes to fall shut, relaxing into him even though she’s still a bundle of raw nerves inside. 

 

“What if it’s my fault?” she says in a whisper roughened by the sudden tightness of her throat.

 

“What’s your fault?” Steve asks, equally as roughly.

 

Darcy reaches up and places a hand over Steve’s heart, feeling it beat steadily and slowly under her fingertips.  “The kids’ abilities.  There are a lot of people out there who don’t like people with abilities like theirs.  What if it was because of me and the shit that I went through that caused them?  And what if having these abilities makes them a target?  Puts them in danger?”  The words trip out of her mouth, unstoppable, but there’s a relief there too.  That she doesn’t have to bear the brunt of this guilt on her own.  Steve’s always been there for her, no matter what decision she makes, and that unflappable trust eases the knot in her stomach just a bit.

 

She feels more than sees him nod, and his fingers stroke her scalp again, calming her a bit.  “What if the kids had inherited one of the illnesses I had before the serum?  What if they were anemic?  Or asthmatic?  Or had a heart arrhythmia?”

 

Darcy snorts indelicately, muffling the noise in his chest.  “They’re healthy as horses.  I can’t even remember the last time one of them had a cold.”  It’s easy enough to see the point Steve’s aiming at, however.  “You’re trying to tell me not to feel guilty, aren’t you?”  Steve shrugs, the muscles in his shoulder moving beneath her cheek, and she’s sure there’s a smart-ass grin spreading across his face.  “That’s rich coming from the poster boy for Catholic guilt over here.”

 

“Nah, there was a guy in New York back in the day, Daredevil, apparently he was even worse when it came to the guilt.”

“Stop deflecting,” she says, nudging him with her nose.

 

He twists in the bed to fully face her, and pulls her into his chest.  Darcy wraps an arm around his back, hand sliding over his skin, pressing him as close to her as possible.  “Okay,” Steve says, looking down at her.  “The way I see it is this.  Or at least this is what I’m telling myself, because there’s a part of me that’s petrified right now.  But I tell myself that even though they have these abilities they’re healthy and relatively happy.  And that whatever our kids can do, they can use those abilities to protect themselves if push comes to shove.”

 

“They’re just kids; they shouldn’t have to protect themselves from the bad guys out there.”

 

“You’re right.  That’s what we’re here for.”  Steve pushes some hair out of her face and drops a kiss onto her forehead.  “Isn’t that how you use your energy anyway?  To protect us?”  His hand reaches up to one of the wooden slats of their headboard and glides his fingers under the edge, feeling for the little carvings that Darcy had painstakingly etched there when they first got the bed, channeling the energy through her fingertips into the tools and the wood to suffuse the entire bed.

 

_ Inguz, Dagaz, Kenaz, Gebo. _

 

_ Protection, stability, understanding, gift.   _ All important things to take to a marriage bed, they both know. 

 

Darcy nods carefully.  “We can teach them how to defend themselves when we’re not there,” she muses.  Rationally, she knows she can’t be there for them every second of every day, and that someday, hopefully far, far in the future, she won’t be there for them at all.  But they can make damn sure that their children can stand tall and proud and safe, even without them.  

 

“Exactly.”  

 

“You know, if we are going to give the kids a crash course in superpowers 101 you and Bucky are probably going to have to fess up about who you really are.”  Because Darcy knows her kids, and she knows that in their eyes the original Captain America is a legend, the current Captain America is a guy with one hell of a nice wingpack, and their father is a stay-at-home dad and comic book artist.  Not exactly superhero material in their eyes, even though they know full well that their dad will protect them until the edge of doom and beyond.

 

Steve grimaces, eyes darting away and then back to her.  “That’s not going to be an easy conversation.  Although…”

 

“Although what?”

 

“I’m not so sure the kids didn’t inherit something from the serum I got also.”

 

Darcy opens her mouth to protest, express her shock, but then she snaps it shut again.  She’d always considered them lucky that the kids hardly, if ever got sick, no seasonal allergies or rampant cases of chicken pox that occasionally made their way through the grammar school’s classes.  Even Joey, who’d earned the nickname ‘The Bash Brothers’ with his friend Dani for his hockey talents, never came back with worse than a twisted ankle or a split lip that patched itself up quickly.  And if that kid put his mind to it, he was damn fast too.  “Shit,” Darcy hisses.  Then she smirks, pressing her lips to his neck.  “So that means I can blame you for part of this whole fiasco too, can’t I?” she teases.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, rub it in.”

 

“There’s an old Discworldian curse.  ‘May you live in interesting times’.”

 

“What?”

 

Darcy sighs and drops her head to his shoulder.  “Someday I will get you to read those books.”

 

“Maybe in the morning,” Steve says, grinning into her hair.  He kisses the top of her head, and she snuggles in even closer to him.  “You gonna be okay to sleep now?”

 

“Meh.  I’ll try.”  She pulls her head away from his shoulder and takes in his eyes, blinking slowly in that way of his that happens right before his body gives in and goes to sleep.  Darcy brushes her fingers over his beard gently, then pecks him once, softly on the lips.  “Good night, babe.”

 

“Good night.”


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Twas a few nights before Christmas, and all through the house...creatures were stirring.
> 
> In which Joey gets some wise advice from his uncle. Bets are open as to whether he listens to it, however. Joey'll figure it out as he goes along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter's a little different from the others in that it's entirely from Joey's POV. However, I like to think that it works, and that we finally get a bit more of an idea as to what the kids are really thinking. My thanks to the crew of Meri, McGregorswench, and Glynnisi for their advance reads of the story and good tips on making sure I got the mindset of a twelve-year-old boy right.
> 
> And thank you to everyone who's commented so far! I will be responding to them shortly, but in case things happen, just know that I read each and every one of them and I love you for it. :)

Joey can’t sleep.  

 

That’s nothing really unusual for him.  He’d long been told that, even as a baby, he never slept, always wide awake and staring around him like he was afraid to miss something.  But this is a different type of insomnia, and he knows exactly why it’s happening.

 

He and Sophie had never intended for their parents to find out about their special talents.  They’d made a pact when they first started doing weird things months ago, that they would never ever tell anyone else about them.  Mom and Dad were so boring, how could they ever understand something like this?

 

All right, as moms go, Joey knows, his Mom is pretty cool and once got kicked out of one of his hockey games for cheering too exuberantly for them, which got him all sorts of cred with his teammates.  And yeah, Dad was able to get him copies of his favorite comic books signed by the authors and artists, which was awesome.

 

But still.  They’re his parents.  And by that fact alone they are automatically uncool and boring.  And having special abilities is definitely NOT boring.

 

(Okay, maybe he had slipped up once in front of Dani and set something on fire without meaning it, but Dani’s good at keeping secrets and hasn’t breathed word one about what happened to anyone else.)

 

Joey grumbles to himself, tossing his head on the pillows and staring at the glowing green numbers of the clock on his nightstand, reading out 2:42 a.m. in its steady fashion.  He should at least try to sleep; he’s got a quiz in his first class tomorrow and he knows he’ll bomb it if he falls asleep on top of the paper.  That and he’ll really get it from his mom afterwards - one of the perils of having a teacher for a parent.

 

Frankie whuffles quietly next to him, nudging a wet nose against his hand as if she’s trying to tell him to go back to sleep.  He scratches at her neck slowly as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will sleep to come.

 

It’s not happening.

 

He slips carefully out of bed, determined not to disturb Frankie.  Maybe some water will help him sleep, and he’ll grab his cellphone from the kitchen too.  Mom always stashes them in the drawer downstairs at night in the attempt to keep him from texting at all hours of the day, but these are extenuating circumstances.  And a few games may help him fall back asleep too.

 

The stairs creak slightly as he walks down them, but that’s a given with this old house.  Something’s always cracking or creaking or making a noise that sounds like a ghost, but is really just the wind in the attic.  Which makes it that much easier for Joey to sneak out to get his phone, he knows.  He isn’t counting on Uncle Jimmy, however, poking his head out of the guest bedroom at the base of the stairs just as Joey hits the main floor.  “Everything all right?” he asks Joey quietly.

 

Joey freezes in his tracks and spins slowly to look at his uncle.  Instead of the accusatory look he’s expecting, however, Uncle Jimmy just looks concerned.  Joey nods and says, “Can’t sleep.  Gonna get some water.”

 

Uncle Jimmy nods, looking over at him with concern.  “You sure you’re all right?” he persists.

 

Joey opens his mouth, ready to nod and escape to the kitchen to jailbreak his phone, but then he snaps his mouth closed with a nearly audible click.  He looks down at the floor, scuffs a toe along the stone tiles of the main hallway.  A heavy, warm hand lands on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Uncle Jimmy’s face staring down at him with concern.  “Come on, kiddo, get in here,” he says.

 

He ushers Joey over to the armchair in one corner of the room and sits him down.  Then, Uncle Jimmy pulls a blanket off the end of the bed and wraps it around the boy.  Joey tugs the blanket more tightly around him; there’s something comforting about being bundled up that much.  Uncle Jimmy sits down on the bed and clasps his hands in front of him, propping his arms up on his knees.  He strokes the knuckles of his left hand carefully, the latex of his prosthetic looking entirely unlike skin in the dim light.  In the daytime the arm would pass as flesh and blood as long as someone’s not staring too hard at it, but maybe things are just different at night, Joey thinks.  “So let me guess - this not sleeping thing started about the same time as your parents found out about your special abilities?” he says, giving Joey a knowing look that even in the dim light of the bedroom is apparent.  

 

“Do you think they hate me for it?” Joey whispers, looking down at his bare feet, curling into the throw rug.

 

“No.”

 

The answer is quick, and strong, making Joey’s eyes dart up at Uncle Jimmy.  “Really?  Are you sure?”

 

Uncle Jimmy smirks a bit.  “Kiddo, you could kill a person and your parents would still love you.  The only thing that may put them off a bit is if you start cheering for the Yankees, and that’s only your dad, anyway.”

 

“What if I burn the house down?  Or if I hurt them because of the...thing?”  Because that’s the fear, Joey knows.  He doesn’t want to hurt anybody, not unless there’s a really, really good reason for it, and what if he accidentally hurts his parents?  Or his siblings?  Or one of his friends?  He hasn’t had these abilities for all that long, not really, and he’s spent so much time hiding them and tamping them down so that they don’t get caught, that he doesn’t really know how to use them.  Which then leads to things like the menorah or the stove going up in flames.

 

Uncle Jimmy doesn’t need to know all of that just yet though.  Not until he talks to Sophie about it, at least.  The whole keeping things secret was a joint decision, and if Ben hadn’t decided to start his little floating thing in front of Mom and Dad, they’d still be keeping the secret.

 

“Then your parents get everyone out of the house and you find a new place to live.  It’s just a building.  As long as everyone’s okay, it won’t matter.”  Uncle Jimmy gives him another look, one that’s intense enough that it makes Joey squirm in his seat and tug the blanket tighter around him.  “Your parents love you and your sister and your brother more than anything in the world.  And nothing you do will ever change that.”

 

“Even if people start to get mean about it?  Because there are a lot of jerks out there who don’t like people who can do weird things.”

 

“Where did you hear that?”

 

“I have a laptop and a phone; it’s not hard to read the news.”

 

Uncle Jimmy rubs his forehead, grumbling something under his breath about technology that Joey can’t quite make out. “First of all, anyone says anything to you that’s out of line I can guarantee that your parents will be right behind you ready to throw the first punch, and I’ll be bringing up the rear.”

 

Joey nods, plucking at the blanket.  “Yeah, dad doesn’t really like bullies.”

 

“Kiddo, you have no idea how much,” Uncle Jimmy mutters.  “And second, I think you should talk to your parents about this, because you’re not going to find anyone who’s going to support you more than them.  They’ve seen things that are a lot weirder than you think.”

 

“Mom said she was stuck in Norway when the aliens attacked New York and just watched the whole thing on TV.  That’s not that weird.”

 

“So watching an alien invasion on TV isn’t weird to you, but being able to set things on fire is,” Uncle Jimmy says, his hand reaching for his forehead once more.

 

Joey just shrugs.

 

“Seriously, Joey.  Talk to them.  I ain’t saying it’s going to be easy, but I think that they just may surprise you.”

 

He glances out the window as he twists his hands in the blanket, wanting to unravel the threads and tangle his hands in them instead of talking to anyone.  “Can I think about it?” Joey asks.

 

“Course you can.  But the sooner you talk to them, the better you’ll feel,” Uncle Jimmy says, grinning once more at him.

 

“You don’t know that for sure.”

 

Uncle Jimmy shoots him a mock glare and crosses his arms over his chest.  “Yes I do.  I’m old, and I’ve known your dad a lot longer than you have.  So trust me when I say that they won’t be mad, and that they’ll be grateful you decided to talk to them.”  Uncle Jimmy sighs, then looks over at the clock.  “You think you’ll be able to sleep now?” he asks.  “I know you’ve got school in the morning.”

 

That statement gets the biggest frown of the whole night, and Joey nods miserably.  “I just want vacation to start.”

 

“One more week.  You can definitely do that.”  He stands up, and goes to the door, holding it open for Joey.  Joey wraps the blanket tighter around himself, and makes his way over.  Before he leaves, Uncle Jimmy claps a hand on the back of his neck.  “You’re stronger than you think,” he tells Joey in a quiet, strident voice.  “Don’t forget that.”

 

“Okay.  Good night, Uncle Jimmy.”

 

“Night, Joey.”

 

Joey heads back to his room, tiptoeing on light feet.  When he gets there Frankie’s sprawled out on the bed, having moved into the warm spot he left behind.  But the dog’s a little furnace in her own right, and Joey curls up next to her, in the space between dog and wall, and feels a nice little warmth seep into his bones.

 

And then, much to his surprise, he falls asleep easily and calmly, without any trouble at all.

 

**********

 

The gentle shaking of his shoulder rouses Joey out of his deep sleep, and he blinks bleary eyes open to find his dad staring down at him.  “Mom’s leaving for school in fifteen minutes,” Dad says quietly.  “Do you think you could be ready in time?”

 

Joey sits up straight at that and all but rolls out of bed.  If he doesn’t catch a ride to school with his mom it means he has to take the bus, which is just...no.  Not after the incident on his bus route that had ended with the bus monitor angry enough to burst a blood vessel and half the kids in detention (thankfully, Joey wasn’t one of them).  He blows past his dad, running for the bathroom at full speed to start washing up.

 

When Joey gets downstairs, dressed and with his backpack slung over his shoulder (though he’s given up on taming the hair, leaving the light brown thatch to fly in all directions), he’s not the only person running around not exactly prepared for the day.  Mom’s there tearing around the kitchen, shoving a stack of graded papers into her bag with one hand as she brushes her teeth with the other.  She lets loose an unintelligible noise when she spots him, and leans over to spit out a mouthful of toothpaste into the kitchen sink.  “You ready to go?” she asks, dropping the toothbrush on the counter and shoving some unruly hair out of her face.

 

“Just need shoes,” Joey says, nodding.

 

“Steve!” Mom hollers, pushing her arms into a fuzzy, oversized cardigan.  “Can you get Joey’s sneakers?”

 

“Yeah,” Dad calls back from another room, loud enough to carry through most of the house, making Joey hope that Ben’s already awake because if he starts howling it’ll take him forever to stop.

 

Mom turns back to him.  “We’ll stop at Dunkies for breakfast, and I’ll give you money for lunch.  Sound good?”

 

“Works for me.”

 

Dad comes into the room, shoes in one hand and Joey’s jacket in the other.  “Here you go,” he says, handing them over.

 

“My hero,” Mom says, going over to give him a kiss as Joey hastily gets into his outerwear.  “You and Jimmy going to be okay to get Soph off to school?”

 

“ _ Yes _ .  Now get going, otherwise you’re going to be late.”  Dad grins down at her.  “We’ll even get dinner started for you tonight too.”

 

Joey grimaces, and the look is mirrored on his mother’s face.  When Dad and Uncle Jimmy got together to cook, things had a tendency to be over-boiled in a very bad way.  

 

“I’ll stop at the ATM and get money for pizza.”

 

“Ha ha,” Dad says.  “We’ve got a new recipe to try; I promise it’ll be good.”

 

“If you say so.”  Mom shakes her head, and kisses him once more.  “Okay, running now, and we’ll see you tonight.”

 

“Later, Dad!” Joey says, just as Mom hustles him out to the garage and into the car.

 

It’s only once they’re in the car, trundling down the wooded roads, that Joey realizes that his mother was just as prepared as he was this morning.  “I guess I’m not the only one who overslept?” he asks.

 

“Nope,” Mom says cheerfully, shooting him a grin and a sidelong look.  “You and me, we’re two of a kind.”

  
“Poor Dad,” Joey replies, which sets Mom off in a state of giggles that lasts the rest of the drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need to say this just for the record: I am a die-hard NY Yankees fan. ;)
> 
> I'm technically marking this story (just this story! There's still a lot planned to come in the overall Interesting Times series XD) as complete, though chances are good there will be another chapter (someone makes a comment about another conversation during editing, and all of a sudden "ooooh, wait, that could be a really good idea"...muses are so fickle). So stay tuned for more. If anyone wants to know about any headcanons or other potential stories for this 'verse, come find me at my blog: aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm envisioning three shorter chapters total for this piece (one of which is written and needs editing, and the other that will be written shortly), however you know just how fickle writers are, and I reserve the right to change my mind about that at any moment. Sneak previews and plenty of inspirational pics can be found on my tumblr at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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